


so tell me darling, do you wish we'd fall in love?

by foxgloved



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Confessions, F/F, Fluff, Light Angst, Nightmares, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-08
Updated: 2016-04-08
Packaged: 2018-06-01 02:59:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6498160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxgloved/pseuds/foxgloved
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She's raising the stele above her head in defense as she pushes open her door and comes face-to-face with a wide-eyed Clary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	so tell me darling, do you wish we'd fall in love?

**Author's Note:**

> for prompt: clizzy + things you said in the dark. aka i'm an emotional wreck?? this might take place after blood calls to blood or malec or morning star, but somewhere in there - at least after valentine tells clary & jace they're siblings, i'd say. title - 'the saltwater room' by owl city.

Rustling noises sound outside Isabelle's room, and she jerks awake as a reflex; scrambles for a weapon at her dresser. (It's dangerous, to be without protection: middle of the night and in a silky nightgown or not.) She's raising the stele above her head in defense (it won't do much on its own, but just having it is good enough for her) as she pushes open her door and comes face-to-face with a wide-eyed Clary.

“I — ” Clary goes pink, the pale flush of her cheeks just visible in the dark, at the sight of her in the sheer nightdress. “Sorry, I — did I wake you up?”

“Awake anyways,” Isabelle tells her. Her shoulders relax, a low breath dropping the tension from her. She backs up, sets her stele down again. (Her words aren't a lie: she hasn't spent much time sleeping recently.) She tilts her head, taking in Clary's forehead dotted with sweat and her drawn in on herself. “Are you okay? What happened?”

“I'm fine,” says Clary. It's a clear lie, her lips pressing together as she shivers. Her eyes seem to glow in the darkness — from what Isabelle can make out of her, she's in a tank top and sweatpants that hang low on her hips, a strip of her stomach visible. “I just — had a nightmare. And I didn't even mean to end up here, I — ” She swallows, tears her gaze away from Isabelle with a twitch of her eyebrows. “Sorry, I'll leave — ”

Isabelle looks her over — there's no way she's getting even down the hall without passing out or ending up with bandages wrapped around her head, the way she looks. “No,” she says, firmly. “It's all right. Come in?”

Clary blinks twice, halting mid-sentence. She chews her lip, seeming to mull it over, and then steps into Isabelle's room, wincing at being barefoot on the cool wood floors. “Thanks,” she says. “I'm sorry. Again.” She smiles, hesitant, and flops down on Isabelle's bed, looking unsure of it.

Her hair's drawn back into a messy ponytail, undone with restless sleep and starting to spill across her shoulders, the knot askew. Her knuckles are blanched white where her fingers crook together, fidgeting endless. Clary's eyes dart around the room, an auburn-haired deer in headlights. She seems like she's expecting to be thrown out any minute — but Isabelle only sighs, and drops onto the bed beside her.

“Are you okay?” Isabelle repeats. She reaches out between them, knocking their shoulders together as she thumbs across Clary's bony knuckles. “If you're okay with telling me — what was the dream about?”

Clary shudders, squeezing her eyes shut. She leans into Isabelle, head pressing into hers, and Isabelle tries desperately to calm her heartbeat. “My father,” she says, measured and cautious, looking up beneath her eyelashes. “I've been having them since I found out he was my father, but they've never been this bad before.”

“Okay,” Isabelle says, like there isn't a cold fist seizing her thumping heart. “I used to get nightmares when I was a kid.” She leaves out the details that only hurt to think of: her mother, back before she'd had Max, smoothing her hair back and comforting her; her father patting her on the shoulder; Alec frowning at her. “I haven't had one in years, but they always were terrible.”

“Yeah, well,” Clary says, with a weak huff of breath, “they seem ten times as real now.” She jerks away, Isabelle's hand falling back between them — and moves as if to stand, before shaking her head. “I should let you get back to sleep.”

“Told you,” Isabelle says, “I was awake.” She glances to the digital clock at her bedside: it's half past midnight, and she does feel a bit weary. “You need sleep, too, Clary. You can stay here if you want.”

“Oh.” Clary tenses, and Isabelle's about to take it back when she nods, looking around the room. “Do you mind if I borrow a pillow? I mean, no offense, but your floor doesn't seem very comfortable — ”

Isabelle sighs. This is a bad idea, but — “You're not sleeping on the floor. My bed's big enough.”

“ _Oh,”_ Clary says again.

“If you really don't want to — ”

“That's, ah.” Clary's tongue swipes across her lips, staining them even more unbearably pink. She reaches up to pluck what of her tie is still in her hair out, tossing it god knows where, and smooths her hair back. “Really not it. I really...” She rubs the side of her arm, the darkness of the room blurring the sides of her face. “I really like you, Izzy. You know that, right?”

Isabelle swallows, throat dry and burning. “I know,” she says. “And I — I like you too, Clary.” She stumbles over the words, not expecting them to slip out as easy as they do.

Clary must see something in her face, which is starting to warm, because the corners of her lips tick up, and she nods. “I'll stay here,” she decides, soft.

And maybe, Isabelle thinks as she smiles back at her, folding back the corner of her blanket, this is okay to have. Clary rolls onto her side, and Isabelle settles in beside her, hand warm across Clary's hip in a gentle but searing motion — enough that Clary could pull away if she wanted. Clary does not pull away, and Isabelle takes that as a cue enough to press her face into Clary's hair, leaving a hesitant kiss there.

“Is this okay?” she asks — whispers, unable to manage more because she's sure she really had drifted off to sleep, and this is some fever dream.

Clary laughs, delighted and easy and not like she'd come here looking for solace — the solace that Isabelle's sure she's getting, now. “It's always okay, Izzy,” she says.

And if Isabelle murmurs, “I love you,” into her hair as they're falling asleep, sure that Clary's half-asleep enough to not hear it, that's between her and the night, stilted around them for just this moment. And it's them, and it's clumsy but perfect, and —

That is enough.

**Author's Note:**

> [ill be here all night](http://feministcatwoman.tumblr.com/)


End file.
